Archive for the ‘mortification’ Category

Sales

February 18th, 2011 by Suzanne | 2 Comments | Filed in Asshole idiots, Damn, evil, fashion Suzanne-style, hilarity, I love New York, mortification

All week long, I looked forward to running in the park today. My plan was to push myself a bit and do a 10K. I did two short runs at my parents’ house on their treadmill earlier in the week and a strength training session on Wednesday morning. My muscles were ready. I was psyched.

Then my throat started hurting around 4 pm on Wednesday. I wondered if it was because I was watching “Jersey Shore” and making me sick, but then I remembered that my mom had a sore throat on Tuesday and my sister had a cold over the weekend. I was sick. I hoped if I kept it quiet on Thursday (which was another day that would have been perfect to run) I’d feel better by today. Not so.

I woke up miserable. I moped around the apartment cursing the gods for inflicting me. I knew that I would wind up eating approximately 14 pounds of pretzel M&Ms if I stayed in all day. My mobile phone alerted me to a text message. My friend wanted to know if I would face off against the bridezillas at the annual Filene’s Basement bridal dress sale with her. I accepted. There’s nothing like a sale on items I absolutely do not need to cheer me up.

We met at 11:30, as she heard that the mob dies down by 10. It was still crowded and dresses were flung about everywhere. These shoppers made wild packs of dogs look calm. I don’t think more than two women in the store said excuse me as they shoved past me in the aisles. Women came in teams, with brides wearing t-shirts that read “BRIDE” in puffy paint and her friends in coordinating colors or hats or scarves. Women also ran around in their various special gown undergarments, as fitting rooms were not available. Brutal! My friend did not find anything, unfortunately.

On my way home from the Running of the Brides (I think that is the official name of the event, as Filene’s was selling t-shirts that said “I survived the Running of the Brides at Filene’s Basement”), I noticed a sale rack outside the Super Runners Shop. I managed to get a pair of Brooks worth $130 for $39.99, so that made me partly happy. It also frustrated me because I wanted to use them right away. Ce la vie.

My last sale score was a pair of running pants with zippered pockets. They were 20% off. I would have bought them full price, though, because I have noticed that women’s running pants no longer come with pockets. This makes it difficult for me to carry my inhaler, which is pretty essential to my ability to stay alive if something goes wrong.

Then I came home and found out that the House of “Representatives” passed a bill defunding Planned Parenthood’s cervical screening, STI treatment, and pre-natal care programs, along with the community development fund and public housing capital fund. To celebrate our descent into a third world country, I ate approximately 14 pounds of pretzel M&Ms.

Sightings

February 10th, 2011 by Suzanne | No Comments | Filed in hilarity, I love New York, mortification, random, What is wrong with people?

Last night I went to a lit event downtown. My friend participated in the panel of experts, and at the end, we met up. As we put on our hats and gloves, a wan woman approached me.

“Can I ask you a strange question?” she queried. I nodded. “Are you Suzanne Reisman?”

I had no idea who this person was. “Yeah,” I said. She was a little disheveled looking. I hoped she was not some sort of deranged anti-choice activist who read one of the posts I’ve written at BlogHer in the past few weeks about the assault on abortion access.

“I’m Fakeyname McFakerson,” she said.

“Oh, yeah,” I said and smiled.

“I was friends with Dana in school,” she continued.

Oh. I had confused her with another person with the same first name. This was even crazier. My sister is four years younger than me and had not been friends with Fakeyname in about 20 years. How the fuck did she recognize me? I told her that I thought it was remarkable that she recognized me, then felt good about myself. I still look the same after 20 or so years. Go me. I tried to engage her in conversation, asking her what she did and letting her know where my sister lived, but she had zero interest in anything I said and walked away. Strange.

After my encounter, my friend and I went to grab some grub. As we waited to cross the street, I looked at the women standing next to me on the corner. She was African American, lean and tall, had curly grayish hair in a pony tail, and funky glasses. She was Carla from “Top Chef.” I love Carla from “Top Chef.”

“Hey, you’re Carla, right?” I asked her.

“Yes,” she said.

“I think you are great.” Then I said something about how the show would be on 45 minutes and I want to root for her to win but I can’t because everyone I root for gets voted out.

“Definitely don’t root for me then!” she said and smiled. I wished her luck, and then hoped like hell that I did not completely stick my foot in my mouth. She clearly was not watching that night’s episode – what if she had been voted out and couldn’t bear to watch? I didn’t get home in time to watch the show or the recording, so I am curious to find out when I view it tonight if I created a situation as awkward as the one I found myself in with Fakeyname McFakerson.

This is one of the many things I love about living in New York. I never know who I will see as I go about my business.

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At the Museum

February 4th, 2011 by Suzanne | 2 Comments | Filed in Jewishness, mortification, sadness

Yesterday I went to the US Holocaust Memorial Museum.  It was a big day for field trips.  The exhibits were jammed with kids of various ages, some serious and some running amok.  It was hard to concentrate.  As I sped through the halls to get ahead of them, I walked by a group of boys.  “This is a very sad place,” I overheard a young man remark to his friends.  They agreed.  I silently did as well.

Before the kids caught up with me again, I was able to read about Hannah Senesh in peace for a few minutes.  She was a young poet who had moved to Palestine before the war, but volunteered to go back to Europe as a saboteur to save Jews.  She was caught and sentenced to death.  Before her execution, she wrote a poem with the following lines:

I could have been twenty-three next July;
I gambled on what mattered most,
The dice were cast.  I lost.

The rowdy crowd surrounded me while I tried not to cry too hard.  By the time I entered the last exhibit of the museum, which was about post-Holocaust life, the school groups had gone.  I sat down to watch a long looping film in which survivors spoke about various experiences, such as the three survivors who were part of an uprising at the Sobibor death camp.  I heard some people behind me sniffling as I did the same.  A woman in the film implored, “Remember the agony of the survivors who had to live with the memories (of their loved ones)… who can never touch them, never have them back.”  Her face was contorted and her voice broke.

I thought about my grandfather and the door he shut on his past.  As I cried my semi-private tears, I heard someone behind me doing the same.  This world is a very sad place indeed. 

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Another Use for Pliers

January 13th, 2011 by Suzanne | 4 Comments | Filed in bad puns, Damn, hilarity, mortification, those were the days

Gloria Vanderbilt jeans were the fashion item to have in the early 1980s. They were so ubiquitous that even my mother had a pair. (Not that my mother was not fashionable back in those days, but more that a ludicrous amount of money for a pair of jeans was not in our family’s modest budget. It’s interesting that the jeans were not outrageously pricey even though they were designer. I think back to Z Cavacci and Guess?, jeans marketed to my age group when I was in junior high, and they were more than $50 for a pair. That was 20 years ago, and I think $50 now is ridiculous. Clearly, there’s enough material – no pun intended – for a separate post, so back to the point.) What initially made Gloria Vanderbilt jeans so popular was the tight fit.

I remember watching my slender mom put on her Gloria Vanderbilt jeans. She lay down on the bed and used a pair of pliers to grasp the zipper and pull it up. At the time, I didn’t understand that washing a pair of jeans designed to be tight would make them insanely tight. It just struck me that she needed pliers to zip her jeans, which infamously appeared anonymously in The Wall Street Journal when a reporter came to my junior high to interview 4th grade girls (not 5th, as my link asserts) about dieting and I mentioned her jean-zipping tactics.

All of this came into play on Monday. It’s fairly cold in New York City, but I still like to walk around, so I dress in layers. My outfit that day included of a pair of wool knee socks under a pair of fleece-lined leggings under a pair of jeans. For further wind proofing, I put on a pair of knee-high leather boots over the socks and leggings, but under the jeans. Even under less layered circumstances, I have some trouble zipped my boots over my calves, and the zipper was not budging with both the bulky leg coverings.

My solution was to grab a pair of pliers from the tool box we keep in our bedroom. (Of course! Where else would you store tools? Although just this very moment I decided that Husband can no longer make fun of my parents for storing tools in their basement bathroom.) I tensed my calf muscles to make it as small as possible to aid the process, took the end of the zipper into the pliers, and pulled. The zipper broke in half. Right. That is when it occurred to me that trying to leverage the thinnest part of the zipper was a bad idea. I reposition the pliers on the part of the zipper closer to the teeth, and it worked like a charm. The other boot was zipped without a hitch, and after I worried that I could not actually walk in the boots (not a problem, it turned out) or what would happen if for some reason I had to take them off (unlikely at work), I strolled out, warm and comfy.

Thank goodness for the versatility of pliers!

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Blood Libel

January 12th, 2011 by Suzanne | 16 Comments | Filed in evil, Jewishness, mortification, What is wrong with people?

I planned to write a lighthearted post today about using pliers to zip things. That story will have to wait. I was very upset this weekend by the shooting that took place in Arizona, but a lot of people were writing about it, and I didn’t have anything to add to their poignant and thoughtful – and yes, sometimes, angry – words.

Then Sarah Palin released her video statement. I’m not going to pretend that I watched it; I didn’t. I did not not watch it because I was sick of the people who take no responsibility for their words and actions accusing people like me of taking no responsibility for our words and actions. I didn’t watch it because someone told me that Palin claimed that there was a blood libel against her.

It’s hard to write this because I’m so upset that I’m crying, and the tears are obstructing my vision and my nose is running and it’s a mess. Blood libels have been used against Jews for centuries in Europe. They are accusations that Jews (or in some cases other minorities) kill Christian children to use their blood for religious reasons. They always led to extreme violence against Jews. They were always strummed up by high powered authorities as ways to incite mobs and let them feel justified in murdering and maiming. Almost always a blood libel conveniently was manufactured by officials when they needed to get pressure off of themselves for their failures and blame others. The insidiousness of blood libels touch multiple levels of human failure.

One of the most recent and infamous blood libels took place in Kielce, Poland in July 1946. When police/government officials/local citizens manufactured a story about a missing Christian boy, a mob – comprised also of police and government officials – rampaged. About 40 (out of the 200 Jews who managed to survive the Holocaust and return home) were killed and dozens of others injured. Around that time, my grandfather had just returned to Poland from Russia, where he had been since 1940. In August, he left Poland forever, taking my bubbe and father across the Czech and Austrian borders illegally so they could live in the relative safety of Austrian DP camps.

In the last few years, many people have accused people they disagree with of acting like Nazis. Recently, Glenn Beck claimed that Holocaust survivor George Soros was a Nazi. In the last decade, people who disagreed with George Bush’s (admittedly bad) policies compared him to Hitler. Now of course, people are claiming that Obama is another Hitler.

When we allow this speech, we denigrate history. We say that run-of-the-mill disagreements and policies that we think are bad are tantamount to genocide. Worse, in cases like Sarah Palin or Glenn Beck, we allow demagogues to misappropriate history, using it against the people who were hurt by it, painting the victims as perpetrators and the perpetrators of violence as victims. This is sick. No, it is beyond sick. It has to end, but I don’t think it will. And that’s why I’m crying. Because I don’t know what to do.

Grocery Run

November 24th, 2010 by Suzanne | 6 Comments | Filed in Asshole idiots, fuck, I love New York, mortification, other rants, What is wrong with people?, yummy eats

One of the best things about living in my neighborhood is the ability to go to the grocery store after midnight when I can’t fall asleep because I am too anxious about the need to go to the grocery store in the morning when there might be holiday crowds. I just rolled out of bed, put some jeans and shoes on, and strolled over to the store. My experience with grocery stores late at night is that it is prime shopping time for oddballs and degenerate. I was not disappointed. It was still pretty crowded and I didn’t find everything that I needed.

Another one of the best things about living in my neighborhood is the ability to walk two blocks up Broadway to the market when the grocery store doesn’t have everything I need in the middle of the night. I completed my shopping and returned home, only to discover that I forgot something. So I headed over the the corner bodega and picked it up.

One of the worst things about living in my neighborhood is the ability to mosey over to stores that sell food at any time of day or night. This means that people who are out walking dogs who suddenly remember that they need groceries will ignore the signs in the store doors that say it is against Department of Health rules to bring animals into the store when they dash in for whatever. I have nothing against dogs, but they do not belong in stores in general and absolutely not in stores that sell food. Two days ago I was at the market and I observed a dog licking the plastic container of a party platter. Again, not the dog’s fault. It smelled something good and tried to get at it. But that is fucking repulsive and now I wonder what else has been slobbered on by dogs. I hate people.

Complicity

November 14th, 2010 by Suzanne | 3 Comments | Filed in evil, Jewishness, mortification, other rants

My grandfather, whose family was murdered in the Holocaust, told me many times that he would never forgive Poland for what happened.

“But Grandpa,” I said at one point. “It was the Germans who were in charges of the Holocaust. Why are you so angry at the Poles.”

He was so angry as he answered that spittle continually flew from his lips. “The POles could not wait to get rid of the Jews,” he told me. He did not yell. He said it patiently, explaining to a naive young American girl what it was like to be surrounded by people who hated you. “The Germans would not know who was Jewish and who was not if the Poles did not turn them over. They used every opportunity to get rid of the Jews. They to this day deny what they did, how they helped. At least the Germans are honest about what they did to us.”

Of course, I now understand how simple part of this answer is. While certainly anti-Semitism raged in Poland before the war, there were many, many people like Zofia Kossak-Szczucka who overlooked their hatred of their Jewish neighbors because they hated the Germans more. There were countless others who helped because they were good people, like the organizers of Żegota, which was officially (albeit inadequately) supported by the Polish government in exile. People who might have helped did not do so because Poland was the only occupied nation in which anyone caught harboring or assisting Jews would immediately be killed, as would their families. It is hard for me to fault people for not endangering their families.

Yet my grandfather was also correct. Poland still, for the most part, refused to see how victims (and the average Poles were indeed horribly victimized the the Nazis) can also be victimizers. For every Pole who did the right thing, far more turned in Jews for nothing more than a bottle of vodka or as much as the Jews’ belongings. Citizens went out of their ways to harass Jews, even without Nazis around. The Polish underground resistance, Armia Krajowa, declared that those who turned in Jews would be branded collaborators and shot. (At least that was the official line, as many of the leaders of Armia Krajowa were anti-Semites who wanted the Jews out of Poland. The whole thing is morally complicated and tangled with contradictions.) I understand why my grandfather could not look beyond his own experiences.

What I’ve been forced to confront, though, is how equally complicit the US government is/was in ensuring that millions of Jews were allowed to be murdered. PBS has an amazing website that examines Americ and the Holocaust. America does not look good. The State Department was run by a raging lunatic, Breckenridge Long, who intentionally denied visas to desperate Jews seeking a way out. Because of him, over 90% of the immigrations quotas went unfilled in the late 1930s and early 1940s.

Worse, the State Department interfered with reports from Europe detailing how bad the situation was, and intentionally derailed the Bermuda Conference, called by Britain, a nation with some sort of moral conscience and serious concern over the situation. Long is as guilt of mass murder as anyone in Poland. Roosevelt choose to do nothing until almost all of Poland’s Jews were already gassed and cremated. Only increased pressure by Congress – and the Treasury Department’s discovery of the extent of evil actions undertaken the the State Department – caused him to create the (grossly underfunded) War Refugee Board. It saved approximately 200,000 people in a year. Imagine what could have happened if action were taken sooner.

I understand the very complicated nature of the time period. There was a Depression. Popular anti-Semites railed and rallied people across the country, scapegoating Jews for the nation’s problems. But after the war, there was no excuse. However, the US chose to do the wrong thing again.

When I visited Berlin in 1997, I went to the Wannsee Villa Museum. The Wannsee Villa is where the Nazis sat around a table and planned the methodical extermination of Europe’s Jews, gypsies, homosexuals, and other “undesirables.” The Museum’s most chilling exhibit, though, detailed what happened to these men after the war: nothing. The Americans deemed these mass murderers who destroyed thousands of communities crucial to rebuilding Germany. They obtained prominent positions in government and industry, living luxurious lives.

Today, the New York Times reported that it went further than that. A significantly censored report found that “American intelligence officials created a ‘safe haven’ in the United States for Nazis and their collaborators after World War II, and it details decades of clashes, often hidden, with other nations over war criminals here and abroad.” In a way, I am not surprised. The US – far from being a beacon of freedom and hope in many nations in which is props up brutal dictators – has a long history of vile, morally repulsive actions. What this changes, for me, is that I can’t criticize the Polish government for whitewashing its past. I live in a country filled with its own self-righteous hypocritical liars.

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Cruising into Selfishness

November 12th, 2010 by Suzanne | 3 Comments | Filed in Asshole idiots, Damn, evil, mortification, other rants, What is wrong with people?

Today’s New York Times has an article about a cruise ship at sea that lost power for 72 hours. At first I felt bad for the passengers. For many people, vacations are a rare treat, and I couldn’t imagine how upset I would be if I was stuck on a cruise ship without a flushing toilet for three days. Then I read what people had to say:

“I hated that there was no electricity or room service,” said Caitlyn Harlen, an 8-year-old who was on board with her family from Buena Park, Calif. “I love room service. I always get brownies. This time, the only time I got a brownie was the first night.”

When I was eight, I didn’t know what room service was. But that is a side note. More upsetting to me is that her parents did not use this opportunity to explain to Caitlyn that these were really unfortunate circumstances, but that there are people all over the world who’ve never even had a brownie. Let alone a brownie from room service. She should consider herself a very lucky girl, indeed.

Of course, her parents probably would not have told her that because they were probably thinking about how much it sucked that they were put out for a few days and that their choices in life might be cramped. Like this vegetarian guy:

Mr. Newman said that while most of the crew members had been exceedingly cheery, one snapped at him when he asked for extra salad or fruit. In the end, Mr. Newman said, he marched to the kitchen himself to find something he could eat.

Seriously, can you believe that crew members who live in the belly of a ship, in fairly horrid quarters even while there is power, would snap at him while they tried to do their generally difficult jobs under outrageous circumstances? Ridiculous.

Or this guy:

Ken King persuaded the crew members to allow him to be the first passenger off the boat by explaining it was his 42nd birthday. All he could look forward to, he said, was “coffee, a hot shower and meat,” explaining that he was tired of eating bread.

Yes, eating bread for a few days is tedious, I know. I’m also certain that there were no people among the thousands on the ship who might have had more pressing medical needs that would suggest they might get off first.

The only person who thanked the crew for their work, incidentally, was the cruise director. Everyone else was too busy talking about how awful it was to lie around “the pool for hours, unable to jump in because there was no chlorine pump” or unable to access the casino. And again, while I really would not want to stand in a line on a cruise for Pop-Tarts, hot dog salad, pickle sandwiches, and warm yogurt, at least they had food, unlike a good portion of the world’s population. Plus they received full refunds and a voucher for another trip. Did the crew get bonus pay for working through such extreme circumstances? Not that I’m aware of.

The lack of gratitude and understand the people in this article exhibit makes me want to put them back on the boat – sans crew – and set them adrift in the seas of their own moral morass.

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A Camp Story

November 4th, 2010 by Suzanne | 2 Comments | Filed in Damn, family, hilarity, I'm a natural resource producer, mortification, random, those were the days

One spring, my mom waited until the last minute to register for me for Junior Day Camp at the Wilmette Park District. By the time she got around to doing so, the program was full. The only camp that had space left was at Terminal Park in Skokie.

Terminal Park had no trees. While there, I learned the delightful, 15 verse whine-song “Found a Peanut,” which was probably her punishment for sending me to a camp with no shade. I also learned a song that had something to do with Terminal Camp counselors being murdered by a crazy man and if anyone found their bones in the woods, we were supposed to paint Terminal Camp Counselor on them in green paint, or something like that. (Obviously they weren’t murdered at camp since there were no trees and there bones were in the woods.) My mom preferred “Found a Peanut” to that ditty.

One day after it rained, we were eating our lunches in the parking lot of the Soloman Schecter Jewish Day School near the park. I have no idea why. Maybe the treeless grass was too wet, so we sat on wet pavement instead. Whatever the case was, I had to pee. Either we were told that we couldn’t use the school bathroom or I didn’t want to ask, but for some reason, I tried to hold it for as long as I could.

Eventually the damn burst, however, and I found myself eating my peanut butter and jelly while sitting in the middle of an expanding pool of warm piss. I was pretty old to have an accident, so I was extremely embarrassed. I sat in my pee for a few minutes while I tired to come up with a plan. My eureka moment was when I decided I would walk up to my counselor and tell her that my shorts were wet because I fell in a puddle of rain water. Yes, brilliant, I thought. She was nice about it and called my mom, who was once again punished for not getting her act together in time for me to go to a good camp and had to bring a change of clothes.

In subsequent years, I realized the problem with my plan was that I probably smelled like piss. There is no way that the counselor believed that I sat in regular water. I am eternally grateful to her, though, for pretending to believe me and not humiliating me any more than I was. That is called compassion. Whoever she is, she probably has better karma than my mom.

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Frenzies

November 3rd, 2010 by Suzanne | No Comments | Filed in Asshole idiots, Damn, evil, mortification, other rants, What is wrong with people?

I worked myself up into three different frenzies yesterday, which is impressive, but probably not even close to a record. In the morning, I became hysterical at the thought that something could happen to Husband. Even though he is here and fine, the potential grief became so real that I actually started crying. I also came up with a horrible metaphor. If something happened to Husband, I would be forever set adrift in a sea of grievous tears. I cheered up the tiniest bit thinking about how my little boat looked like a cartoon Viking ship, but I was back to panic when I realized that I don’t know where Husband buried the metaphorical gold and I’d become homeless so I’d actually need my stupid ship.

A few hours later, a series of unfortunate emails left me in a lather. Why people in important positions can’t read is beyond me.

In connection with people in important positions who can’t read, it occurred to me that if Americans want a government that commits to turning this country into a third world nation by continuing to elect people who increase the gulf between the haves and have nots, who am I to stand in the way? In the short term, it sort of benefits me to have tax cuts so I can travel to other places to get away from my problems. Of course, in the long term, it will be a disaster and I worry about all the kids out there who are going to inherit an extra enormous clusterfuck. Probably reading “God’s Harvard” by Hanna Rosin – about an evangelical college (although I uses the word college only because that is what they call themselves; they are really a terrifying training institute) that is preparing uber-Christians to take over the US in various ways – on this election day was a very bad plan.

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